


Pearl Handled

by Esmethewitch



Series: The Amorous Adventures of Hotlips and the Lipless Wonder [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Infidelity, PWP, Self-Loathing, Why Did I Write This?, unsafe gun handling habits on frank's part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esmethewitch/pseuds/Esmethewitch
Summary: Margaret really, really likes Frank's fancy pearl-handled pistol. Frank enjoys this new development.This is what happened after I rewatched Sniper.
Relationships: Frank Burns/Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan
Series: The Amorous Adventures of Hotlips and the Lipless Wonder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843618
Kudos: 5





	Pearl Handled

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite things about MASH is that all the adult humor went over my head as a kid, and I can appreciate it now. This is in honor of Margaret's gun kink in Sniper and the fact that she's definitely domme material.
> 
> Store your gun properly if you have one, folks. Be like Margaret, not Frank.

“There’s something so exciting about a pearl-handled pistol,” Margaret had declared. “My father used to have one.” 

The only problem was that Frank wasn’t too sure of how to use it. He knew what you were  _ supposed  _ to do with guns; shoot commies. And twirl them around; that looked neat. He had nearly mastered the twirl without dropping the gun. But then Pierce and McIntyre didn’t appreciate such a symbol of Military might and masculinity, yelling at him to “put that goddamn thing away before you kill someone!” That’s what a gun was for, technically. He wouldn’t have minded too much if it had killed Trapper and Hawkeye, but there were rules about killing men on your own side in a war.

He couldn’t do it. When he went out to hunt that sniper, one dark, wet, night, he trembled with fear and the beautiful pearl-handled pistol was useless in his clumsy hands.  _ Good-for-nothing. Stupid.  _ Frank knew he was far from clever. He only got through college with good enough grades to go to medical school twice because of Louise. She and that pretty friend of hers, Mary, would drag him into the library and Mary, who was studying to be a teacher, would tutor him.

He’d thanked her profusely, but Mary waved him off. “I want to help children with behavior problems and learning disabilities,” she’d said. “This is good practice.” Frank turned scarlet while she exchanged looks with Louise. 

Later, early in his marriage when he still believed that a marriage was a sacred thing and kept his vows, he finally found that secret spot inside of Louise’s tight, wet heat with a couple of crooked fingers. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, breasts heaving. Finally, he, Frank Burns, had got something right. Before this Louise would retire to the bathroom to “tidy up” after coitus, but the buzzing was a telltale sign that he’d left her unsatisfied and she was making do with her vibrator. 

Tonight, that would not be the case. Louise moaned. Frank thrust his fingers in harder. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Louise breathed. “Oh Mary! Harder! Please!”

Frank withdrew his fingers. “What?”

Louise opened her eyes. “I meant Mary as in: Jesus, Mary and Joseph that was good, Frank,” she said, voice shaking and staring at a point exactly two feet off his left ear. That night, he believed it. But the mood was ruined. Frank didn’t like blasphemy in bed.

Months later, she’d moaned, “Oh, Thelma!” He started seeing his receptionist after that. He was disgusted, but not shocked. After all, Louise was an alumna of an expensive prep school that exported intellectuals, lesbians, and combinations of the two. But he kept his wife so unsatisfied that she turned to women, so while Louise may be a sexual deviant he was a failure of a man. That was worse.

Here and now, in Korea, he stood before the door of a woman who was not his wife, wearing a uniform that felt like a costume of a Real Man, a weapon he didn’t know how to use at his hip. He didn’t have to do this, he could turn back and return to the Swamp anytime he liked. Margaret would be sad, but she couldn’t  _ make  _ him do anything. He rapped at the flimsy wood. “Margaret,” he called.

“Quiet, Frank! They’ll hear!”, she bellowed.

He gently opened the door and tiptoed into her tent. She embraced him and slid her hands down to the nape of his neck.

“Oh, Frank,” she breathed. Her eyes were sunken with fatigue from a long shift in the OR, but she was still beautiful.

“Margaret,” he declared, voice wobbling in spite of herself. She was here. The only one who listened to him, the only person in this godless country who didn’t make him a laughingstock. He was sure that the commies, the [a word Pierce and McIntyre would yell at him for saying, actually  _ angry  _ for once] were laughing at him in their own language on the rare occasions that he had to patch them up. 

“Frank”. This reverence was wonderful, but if he didn’t step in, they’d be at this all night. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but his cock was rising and getting trapped against his trousers.

He coughed meaningfully and undid his belt. The holstered pistol swung and bumped against Margaret’s thigh. She looked down and smiled.

“Oh, you brought your pistol! Can I see it, Frank?”

“Margaret, you can clean and service my  _ gun  _ all you like tonight,” he said. 

Margaret pursed her lips. “Can I look at your actual pistol? Please?”

He sighed. “Fine. It is very dangerous to handle a loaded gun---”

Before he could continue, Margaret had taken the gun out and opened the spinny cylinder-thing with a click. Wait, she could just do that? Eight bullets thunked out of the chamber and onto her desk. 

“It’s not loaded anymore. We’re fine.” She clicked the spinny thing back in. “Aah, this is such a nice gun. So exciting, so pretty. It’s giving me ideas.”

“What sort of ideas?” Sometimes Margaret’s ideas were fun. Sometimes they gave him bruises that he had to hide from McIntyre and Pierce or he’d never hear the end of it. Other times, they made him blanch and cringe.

“Fun ones, I think. Fun for me. I hope you’ll like it, too. Can I---can I play with your gun, Frank? The bullets are out now.”

“It’s still locked and loaded,” Frank said with a smirk. “Might go off at any time.”

She shook her head. “No.  _ This  _ gun.” She tapped him meaningfully on the shoulder with the muzzle of the pistol. 

Frank’s mouth went dry and he felt like how he’d imagined a knight getting dubbed by a queen might. “Oh, y-yes,” he stammered.

“Okay. If there’s anything you don’t like, tell me so and we’ll stop.”

“Yes, Margaret, I will.”

“I just want to be sure you’ll be able to,” she continued. “Because remember that time we had with the...harness from the Japanese sex shop, and then you didn’t….”

“I know. I will. Don’t you worry about me.”

She’d paused again. “If you can’t talk and you want me to stop, tap my thigh three times,” she told him. “Why don’t you try that now?”

Frank reached down and awkwardly tapped her three times. He stopped to caress her shapely knee. Margaret slapped his hand away. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

From experience, Frank knew to just stand there and let Margaret take control. Sometimes she knew what he  _ needed  _ but was too scared to admit he wanted.

Margaret leveled the pistol at his chest. “Strip,” she commanded. 

He gulped, and complied. Off came the Army jacket, the pants, the tank and shorts, the dog tags, the socks, and the boots. He folded every article of clothing and left it in a neat pile by the foot of her bed.

“Kneel.” He did. Now he had a marvelous view of Margaret’s legs in Army pants that she’d purposefully requested one uniform size too small, but he didn’t mind because that way he could look all he wanted at her shapely behind. The only drawback was that other people could too.

She dragged a chair over and sat before him, pondering his nude form and red, leaking cock. She thrust his gun forward. “Clean it.”

“Margaret, my oil and cloth are back in the Swamp!” 

“You don’t need them. Open your mouth, there’s a good boy.”

Frank frowned. “I don’t think the saliva’s good for the metal. It’s mostly water…”

Margaret glared. The muzzle of his gun stared him in the face. But it wasn’t like this gun was useful for anything else in his hands. Something snapped inside of him as he imagined Margaret fucking his face with his own pistol. He’d never done anything like this before, but he could manage. It was smaller than a cock (not that he’d been looking at other men’s dicks in the shower, of course). 

He licked his lips, opened his mouth, and licked long stripes against the barrel of the gun. He stuck his tongue into it, tasting oil and tin. She slowly fed it down his throat, letting up on the pressure when he began to gag so he could adjust to it.

It was disgusting. It was shameful. It was glorious and made his dick harder than ever, or maybe that was the lack of air. His eyes watered and saliva dripped down his chin. He looked up into Margaret’s eyes and they glinted with pure lust.

Without warning, she pulled it out of his throat. Frank gasped at the loss. She grabbed a handkerchief and blotted it dry, caressing it. 

“Oh, Frank,” she whispered. “You did such a good job cleaning this gun. It’s beautiful. Now, you can service me.” She unzipped her olive-drab pants and let them drop to her ankles, spreading her thighs. She patted them. Frank bowed his head and set to work devouring her. His nose bumped against her folds, and she let out little whines and bucked beneath him. He wrenched his head away and came up for air. His mouth tasted of metal, gunpowder, oil, and the salty musk of  _ woman.  _ Margaret’s hand came back to the back of his neck and pressed him down again. 

“Don’t you dare stop.” There was a press of unyielding metal at his cheek. It was lightly warm from his mouth, and it slid up and down. He deepened the strokes of his tongue on her folds, and she rewarded him with more pressure from the gun. Her other hand gripped his hair tightly.

Finally, she let out a strangled shriek and let her hand gripping the gun fall to her side, now carding his hair through her fingers instead of pulling. Now she was the one gasping. She took a few deep breaths and sat up, appraising him and his hard, leaking cock.

“Sit on my lap,” she said. He did. She took him in hand and with a few rough strokes, she brought him off and he spilled over her palm. Unsanitary. He looked around for a suitable rag to clean her up with, but the memory of the barrel of the pistol at the back of his throat brought to mind a better idea.

He grabbed her wrist and lapped it up, tasting his own salty release. He sucked on her fingers. She let out a satisfied little hum and kissed him on his forehead, setting the gun down on her desk.

She held him, tired, spent, and  _ owned.  _ “I should get up,” she said after a little while.

“Why?”

“It’s not good to leave a gun lying around loose.”

“Oh? What do you do instead?”

“You should store it in a locked safe, unloaded. The ammunition ought to be stored separately, to minimize accidents.”

Frank frowned. “However do you use it? We are at war, after all…”

Margaret sighed. “Frank, we are in a hospital, not soldiers at the front lines. Wait, you’re meaning to tell me that you just let the thing lie around unsecured and  _ loaded?” _

“...yes?”

“I think I should hang on to this gun, Frank.”

“If you say so, Margaret.” She was the one who knew how best to use it, after all. 


End file.
